


Intersect

by moosesmittens



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Feral Ford, Gen, Parallel Fiddleford, Parallel Universes, portal ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:29:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosesmittens/pseuds/moosesmittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Journal 3 spoilers!]</p>
<p>Fiddleford McGucket is in a universe where everything seems to have just gone right for him. The last thing he needs is an alternative version of Stanford to ruin it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intersect

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick drabble inspired by Journal 3 and loosely based off the following artwork:
> 
> http://midnitedirectives.tumblr.com/post/148168439883/um-more-parallel-fidds-and-alpha-ford

“Why’s he gagged?” 

“He bit one of us… Down to the bone.”  Fiddleford raises his brow. “He bit ya?”

He looks at the scruffy man tied to the chair with rope. It’s undoubtedly Stanford, but not his Stanford. His Stanford is younger, his posture is proud and tall. Chest puffed, full of promise and prestige. No one else he’d rather be researching with.

This was… Some sort of wild animal masquerading as Stanford. His eyes are hollow, darting back and forth; heavy shadows hang underneath them. His clothes are torn and filthy and the stench of the man was truly something awful. 

The feral Stanford jerks his arms and legs, seemingly realising they were bound. Then he roars, the chair rocks as he thrashes and hisses and spits through the gag. His teeth snap down onto it, as though trying to bite it off. Fiddleford observes this with mild horror. But he must remind himself that this isn’t Stanford.

The panicked thing suddenly fixes a wide-eyed bloodshot stare onto him. His whole body goes rigid and Fiddleford can almost see the cogs spin rapidly in his rusty mind as he recognises him.   “Fiffdord?” The Not-Stanford manages to utter through the gag. Fiddleford nods to one of the campus guards to remove the gag. He does so with great caution, jerking the gag out swiftly and backing away before Ford can snap those teeth down. 

But he’s far too busy staring at the scientist before him, his eyes suddenly bright.

“Fiddleford!” He breathes. “I… I never thought I’d see you again!”

The earnest in this creature sets Fiddleford’s teeth on edge. “We’ve never met.” He states icily.

The man before him seems to deflate. “But… That makes no sense… I… Fiddleford was my—“

“I’m not your Fiddleford.” He testily cuts him off. “I don’t know who or where in the heck ya came from, but you’re not the Stanford I know.”

“So this is a parallel universe!” Life seems to return to the bound man. Something like purpose igniting in his eyes. “I thought as much but I would never have… This is…”

“The fellas here say you’ve gone feral. Is this true?” Fiddleford asks, his southern drawl edging in. This could be a spy for all he knows. This could be someone sent to sabotage them and destroy their dimension.

“N-No!” The Definitely Not Ford gasps, seemingly horrified by the mere suggestion. “I… I don’t know. I’ve travelled… To many places.” He seems genuine. The man seems to wrestle with the thought. He’s malnourished, sleep-deprived and looks like he’s seen too much too quickly. That would do a number on anyone’s sanity.

“It’s definitely a feral…” One of the guards mutters. Not-Stanford’s head jerks towards him, baring his teeth. A low snarl erupts from him.

Fiddleford sighs. This wasn’t helping. He waves at them, indicating for them to leave the room. “And not a word of this to the Professor, ya hear?” He snaps.

They nod and retreat hastily.  
Fiddleford approaches Not-Stanford warily. It’s reminiscent of way he’d approach an injured animal during his childhood on the farm. Never could be too careful. Even when you’re trying to help, the critter could lash out with teeth, claw or hoof; it was instinct. And it seems like that’s what this man before him has been running on for the last few years.

“Now I’m just gonna untie ya now, kay? No funny business, got it?” Fiddleford murmurs, kneeling next to the chair to work on untying his ankles. He feels the other man’s gaze burning through him.

“This place is amazing, Fidds… You must have worked so hard!” The Not-Stanford is saying. The nickname sends ice into his blood.

“Don’t call me that.” Fiddleford mutters, trying to ignoring that gaze and work on the knots in the rope. Eventually it falls away to the floor.

“Okay you’re free—“

Suddenly arms are wrapped tightly around his waist. Fiddleford starts, stepping back and preparing to call for security. 

“I’m sorry.” Stanford utters, his voice cracking and making Fiddleford pause. His face is buried in his chest, grimacing with his eyes squeezed shut. “I just… I’m so glad to see you again.” 

Heat crawls across Fiddleford’s face. Tears dribble onto his lab coat but it doesn’t matter. It felt like Stanford. He gulps down a lump rising in his throat. 

“…Guess we oughta get you cleaned up, eh?”


End file.
